Honeymoon in Red
by Kiwisilence
Summary: "Molly gave him an unassuming name. Nothing that hinted of him being anything beyond the sixth child of a poor family. Nothing that hinted of the feelings seeded inside of her." Dark, Slytherin Ron. Eventual slash.
1. Come Fall

Chapter 1: Come Fall

* * *

A shadow crawled on the horizon, edging its way through the trees and grasses of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was more of an animal than a force of nature.

Molly Weasley stood in the kitchen, returning to the daily ritual of spelling the dishes and silverware clean. She was an efficient witch, but for some odd reason, today her scourgify couldn't quite clean the dishes. There were bits of grime still clinging to them, which no magic could seem to nudge. It wasn't too noticeable and could have been overlooked, but touching her hand against the plates grated like sand.

"This is ridiculous," Molly huffed.

Her mind quickly turned to the boys, the usual culprits: Bill and Charlie. They must have been up to their pranks as usual; it could never have been Percy. Despite how young Percy was, the boy was too serious to cause mischief.

She would not wake them now just to demand what hex they had used. Molly was better than that; her magic would win.

Molly could only hope that the twins would not grow up to be like Bill and Charlie. But her hope was just that - only hope. Deep down, she knew that the twins would live up to her side of the family. Fabian and Gideon might be dead, but the terror of twins might have been a curse upon her family.

Molly stopped flipping through incantations. She was not above physically cleaning the dishes, but before she could continue, something in the skyline caught her eye.

It should not be dark quite yet, but a grayish smog bled through the sky around the Burrow. A storm was coming. Part of her had always been scared by storms, despite that she had magic to protect any real damage. There was something primordial about the twisting of clouds and strikes of lightning, almost god-like in their terror for her.

Her eyes watched transfixed, pausing from her domestic duties. The annoyance of her spells' failure didn't seem to bother her anymore; she was calm.

A sense of calm before the storm.

She no longer could remember that night, but the darkness it brought lingered in her. Suspicion grew and multiplied, soon to be joined by the birth of her next child.

Molly gave him an unassuming name. Nothing that hinted of him being anything beyond the sixth child of a poor family. Nothing that hinted of the feelings seeded inside of her.

Ronald Bilius Weasley was dejected from her, more like a cancerous tumor than the birth of the child.

* * *

"He doesn't cry," Molly said watching Ron in the haphazard cradle Arthur had found for their son.

The cradle had been found in a Muggle garbage dump, fixed and shoddily polished with her own spellwork. If she looked away, and only caught the barest shape of the contraption, it could have looked nice. Instead, the spelled paint looked plastered, like a forced sense of happiness. Even the smell about it...just seemed off.

Arthur had been truly happy for their son. Molly supposed she had once been too.

"Maybe he'll turn out like Percy," Arthur whispered into her neck, holding Molly in his arms.

"Percy at least wanted me by him. His eyes said it."

She couldn't stop herself. Ron, who should have been their sixth miracle in her loving yet poor marriage, could only be treated with suspicion. Molly only hazily remembered his birth; even his conception was just a vague date surrounded by gray haze.

"He loves you." He cooed against her neck again, but it didn't summon any feelings of love for her brood.

Ron's birth could only be thought of in mechanical terms. He was a creature ripped from her, a monster forced into the light from its cavern. All of the Light in both her and Arthur's family didn't shine on the child. That made her sound horrible, but she didn't know who to blame.

"Don't you sense...something different about him?" She tread carefully, not wanting to offend her husband. Arthur must see reason; he couldn't be that oblivious.

"All of our sons have been different. Each a beautiful shade of their mother."

Arthur was too sweet towards her; too saccharine. She loved the man's loyalty dearly, but she feared Ron. She feared the child before them, as if it was ticking its time in that cradle, plotting their downfall.

The child's eyes seemed to own her; it never pled to be fed. It demanded. It breathed down at her.

"I worry about Ron." Molly sighed.

"All mothers worry. You wouldn't be a great one if you didn't."

Molly would not resign herself in the long run. Maternal intuition practically bled through her, creating a palpable fear she had never quite experienced. The war seemed distant to her, but Ron was in her very home. Even the light in the house seemed to distort itself around the child.

"I suppose..."

* * *

They didn't' really know Ron. Even as the years staggered on, and through endless summers of mock-Quidditch games and pranks, Ron remained an enigma. He was a portrait not yet painted; an abstract more than human creature.

Not even Ginny, who was the closest to Ron's age, grew close to him. His siblings didn't quite know what to do with him. They could ignore him, the few choice words he would speak, always could make them cringe.

Ron was a creature of silence; a solitary boy that didn't laugh, nor did he smile or really show any emotion. He wasn't a problem child, for he rivaled Percy in his obedience of rules, but something always just seemed...off about him.

"Mother," Ron spoke in the kitchen, almost making Molly jump with fright.

A weaker woman would have spilled the stew she had making. A stronger woman would have never had that child.

"What is it, Ron?" Molly forced herself to not yell. Her tone was always kind, forged by years of masking her emotions to the child.

Ron had made her into a liar; she had never yelled nor punished the boy. Never had she spied upon him, trying to break the root of his odd nature. Molly had become the perfect Slytherin.

She was ever the kind mother, but her nerves were ever closer to snap.

"I don't want stew."

Molly stopped her wand-arm, the spell pausing with it. She couldn't fight her child. Ron still had the same air of dominance that he did as a baby; it forced her into submission. Ron's voice spoke of gray, violent skies beating down upon her.

"The rest of the family will eat it then, Ron. What would you like?"

She looked over to her son, instantly regretting that brief moment of compassion. Ron locked eyes with her.

"I'm not hungry."

Nothing more was said. Ron stared, but left quickly back to his room. She couldn't question him; she couldn't discipline him. She couldn't...love him.

She could only survive him.

* * *

Never before had a Hogwarts letter been such a godsend to the Weasley family. They were always strapped for money, but Molly willingly would spend whatever it took for Ron's first year at Hogwarts.

The beast could be sated, trapped away in that Scottish castle and away from the Burrow. She doubted he would return for the holidays; she would even urge him not to. Molly could summon the strength for that.

At long last, Molly would have a break from what she had birthed. For the rest of the school year, her family would be free of Ron's presence. Ron was a dark maroon bleeding into the strawberry red of her family; he tainted them. They couldn't act normally when he was around.

Even though he didn't harm them, nor did he even say anything cruel. It was that air, that calm attitude masking an inner storm, that always had them on edge.

Molly had come to the realization that there was nothing wrong with her nor Arthur. Their blood was pure and their beliefs were purer. Ron was the cost of the happiness Arthur had gave her. He was a plague, swarming the lives of decent folk like her family.

Her family...Ron was simply not _of her_.

"I hope you two have a good year," Molly smiled at the twins. They were natural tricksters, but she still loved.

They stopped eating, smiling back at their mother. Percy was upstairs, obsessively packing and repacking. Ginny was asleep, not caring for a school year she wasn't apart of.

Ron...Ron wasn't hungry.

He never wanted her love; he barely wanted even the sustenance a mother could provide. Molly's eyes paled, looking away at the window.

The twins knew what thought crouched behind her eyes.

"Ron might break tradition...he could be sorted into a different house." Fred looked to his mother.

"You'll have to show him the way around Hogwarts. Us Weasleys stick together."

Her words were beautifully fake, too melancholic to have real value.

"Now finish up before Ginny wakes up."

* * *

Ron's siblings were the first to hate him.

Their mother never chided him, giving the youngest brother whatever he asked. For years, they had simply found him weird. Bafflement had grown into hatred; suspicion molted into jealousy.

Even Percy eyed Ron weirdly, as if he was looking at a rotting, bloody moth instead of his brother. The twins were more blunt, eventually stopping to prank the rest of the family and instead of focusing on Ron.

Ron didn't respond to being hexed, not even the barest facial twitch.

It was the same, glazed face the youngest brother had opened his Hogwarts letter with.

He acted better than them. It was in his eyes to the confident stomps of his walk. Ron's presence spoke of entitlement; he reminded them of their poverty simply by existing.

Only Ginny didn't respond to Ron. The intuition of a child knew very well to avoid Ron.

But the twins couldn't.

And no one in the family stopped them.

Hogwarts would only given them more freedom for revenge.

* * *

Arthur had once loved Ron.

"He's gone." He whispered to his wife, both cuddled in bed. A slight fire beamed in his words.

"We've survived him," Molly turned from her side to eye her husband. They had aged now, past what was natural. Ron had weathered them.

They lay there silent for a few moments, before Arthur finally spoke. "But he'll be back in the summer."

"And every summer." Another, kinder Molly would have cried for her son. She was too hardened for that. "I would have hated myself...if my past could have seen the love for our son. We can barely whisper a word about him..."

"But Molly...there was nothing else that could have been done."

"Our children deserve a childhood...not that."

Even though they felt new life in their son's absence, Ron's presence seemed to hang in the shadows. It lurked.

"What could we do?" Arthur spoke.

The question went unanswered even in sleep. No answer was envisioned in her dreams. She couldn't fathom a life without Ron dominating them. His absence only hinted at a future return.

Molly would have to summon the last pangs of her strength and defend her children...her true children. Ron was a monster boiled from her and not the innocent child Arthur had once hoped for.

That night, Molly tossed in her sleep. Arthur's question haunted her, beating like a death drum. In her dreams, she could only see the blank, possessive stare of her youngest son.

Even in sleep, he claimed her.

* * *

AN: I'm debating on how to tell this story, solely through the perspective of others about Ron or the traditional, third person-omniscient that reveals Ron's thoughts. Regardless, I want to lampshade the Ron the Death Eater trope. No one is truly evil (or even reliable).


	2. So Your Heart

Chapter 2: So Your Heart

* * *

It was a cold, rainy day in Diagon Alley.

Madam Malkin wondered to herself why the shop owners didn't just spell the weather into being permanently sunny. Something cheery for the children. Diagon on its grayest, cloudy days looked too much like its sister Knockturn for her comfort.

But the lights of the shops beckoned customers despite the weather. During days like these, she was on edge, as if she expected more than just rain to come.

In from the rain, came a small, red-headed boy. He stood and eyed the store, pacing upon a pricier rack of robes that she doubt he could afford.

His clothes weren't just second-hand and plagued with stitches and holes. He didn't look like a beggar, but he neither naive, child-like look of a Hogwarts student.

Rarely did students ever come without their parents; nevermind what the child wore. She would have guessed him a Muggleborn, because he came in soaking wet. There was no parent to spell his clothes clean. But Muggleborns usually had an escort from the school...Malkin could only hope that Hagrid was not somewhere around. He was a kind man, but a cumbersome oaf nonetheless.

Hagrid had come a few days ago with Harry Potter and thankfully had avoided entering her store.

"Can I help you?"

The boy cleared his throat, nervously eyeing her, "I'm here for my Hogwarts robes...miss."

He was too polite, too unsure of how to address her. This was a business transaction and not an assassination plot. Malkin almost felt like scaring the child just to see his reaction.

"First we must take measurements. And get you clean." She smiled to herself, trying to push some positive energy into the room. She was definitely bored and needed to focus on helping him.

The boy turned his head, intrigued by the mannequins in the front of the store. They had been animated with magic to model not just the Hogwarts robes but clothes for the fall season. Their skin was pretty and polished, more like a china doll than a real human. Their beauty was off-putting, but seemed strangely transfixing to the boy.

"What's your name?"

If he wasn't a Muggleborn, he could have been a Weasley, but that family would never have let one of their own come alone.

"Ron...Ron Weasley." His voice came out with the slightest chatter, still cold from the rain.

He was a Weasley. Despite the peculiarity of his arrival, her mind darted to thoughts of the twins instead of questioning why he had come alone.

"I remember your brothers..." Malkin trailed off. She almost didn't know what to expect from Ron. He seemed too meek to be like Fred and George, but she wouldn't put it past a Weasley to burn down her entire store.

Those two would know spells that could make it burn despite the rain.

"Why are you here alone?" Her mind snapped back to Ron, focusing on what to do.

Malkin concentrated, casting a non-verbal spell to produce his measurements. Even if he wasn't a criminal-in-the-making like the twins, he was still a Weasley. His robes would be second-hand at best.

"My parents gave me money," Ron spoke, as if that answer should have been enough for him being alone. The boy wasn't a fan of small-talk or giving any hints of his family life.

"I remember when they came here their first year for robes."

If Arthur still had his, she was surprised that Ron hadn't been forced into wearing them.

Ron didn't respond, but just stood their waiting for her to be done. He didn't trust her, which almost made her offended. She had every reason not to trust his family after Fred and George. She still found dungbombs in the shop years later.

"I'm done," she tried once again smiling and meeting his eyes. "I'm sure there's something we can work with."

As long as she wasn't transfiguring a rotten rat's hide into a robe, she was sure Ron would like it. She could even do that and it would be a step up for that family's clothing.

Ron had been timid coming into her shop; timid enough to make her not question why he was alone. He baffled her more than anything. All she could give him was smiles and something that passed at clothing for how much money she had. She certainly didn't expect anything of...or to ever see the boy again. He would probably be wearing the same robe for the rest of his years at Hogwarts...maybe until his grave.

He was a Weasley, after all.

* * *

She had sent Ron to Diagon Alley through floo, not wanting to know what he was up to. She had not expected a surprise visit from the Headmaster. She fretted over his appearance, as if he had someone known she hadn't gone with Ron.

As if Dumbledore knew that she would never be the perfect mother.

Molly sat in the kitchen with Arthur, having her other, normal children to play Quidditch outside. Dumbledore had apparated and asked for privacy with that same, bizarre twinkle in his eyes.

Years ago, Molly had found the elder wizard comforting, a kind, grandfatherly figure alone in the darkness of the war around him. She had instantly viewed him as if he was her own grandparent. He was kind; he was a hero. Those times had been simple.

But now, Dumbledore made something stir within her: emotions that festered for years. Albus was not innocent, nor was he senile. If anything, Ron had all the makings of becoming Albus Dumbledore.

They were calculating. A chess-master. And the Weasley family were the pieces.

"It'll soon be Ron's first year." Albus beamed.

Molly had not cared to offer the man something to eat. Neither had she made tea. Both her and Arthur were too tired for the man's presence. They could affect some positivity, but not much else.

"Yes." She didn't know what else to say. A simple head nod could have sufficed.

"It will also be young Harry Potter's first year."

They already knew that. The entire wizarding world knew that. Harry's age and his life were facts branded into the consciousness of their world.

"I doubt you came all this way to tell us that, Albus." Molly's eyes looked confused at the elder wizard.

"No, I'm afraid not. Children are...impressionable at his age. They need the right influence."

Molly almost laughed to herself. Ron wasn't impressionable, nor could he be influenced. He was born wrong. Dumbledore though he could mold people, never believing in the absolutes. Harry was just like his parents whereas Ron was a reflection of her own inner turmoil.

The thoughts were shameful...but she was jealous of Lily and James' child. They were perfect, unlike her and Arthur. Something had gone wrong with them to produce Ron. Lily and James were dead, but their legacy would proudly live on in Harry. There was no need to guide the boy. He would be light; he would be a Gryffindor. Molly didn't need to be a Seer to know that.

Molly was lucky that she had six other children to carry on her legacy...despite the stain of his existence.

"He'll be just like his parents. I'm sure Fred and George will get along with him."

For the sake of Harry, she hoped he would run away from Ron. Fred and George might be pranksters, but they were still good.

"Perhaps..." Albus paused. "Ron should make an effort to befriend him...on the train ride. It's never too early to make a friend."

Arthur gulped, looking over to his wife.

"Ron isn't a people-person." She dropped the pleasantries, starting to get passive-aggressive with the Headmaster.

"He is a Weasley. I'm sure he is."

"He isn't. He has no friends." Arthur spoke dryly.

Albus countered, "He has brothers and a sister."

Arthur gave him a blank stare, not knowing what to say.

Molly asserted herself, but still restraining a want to just yell. "He's isn't even friends with them."

"All the more reason to make one...in Harry." Albus smiled.

Molly knew that the conversation wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't be truthful about her son.

"I'm not having Ron be friends with him. Fred and George will get along fabulously with him...they're quite like Sirius and James." Molly pressed, looking to Albus sternly.

Truthfully, they were like Harry's dad. They might not be the best influence for a first year, but they were good friends nonetheless. She doubted Harry would make many friends his own age because of his fame. If Harry was anything like his father at Quidditch, it was all the more reason for him for the twins to be his friends.

Dumbledore pressed his hands against the edge of the table, breaking eye contact with Molly. He paused for what seemed like several minutes, before gathering his thoughts.

"Molly...Arthur...I'm not asking. I'm pleading." He looked to them, genuinely frustrated.

"Ginny can be his friend next year," Molly quickly replied. Once again, Molly took charge and spoke for Arthur.

"Please reconsider. At the very least, if you see Harry, make sure he gets on the train."

Molly wanted to be nice to Harry, but she didn't want to corrupt him. If she could push Ron down into the train tracks and adopt Harry, she would. She could still urge her other children to befriend Harry, but never Ron. She hoped that Ron wouldn't make Gryffindor and stain Harry, like the red-head had done with the rest of her family.

"I will take me leave," Dumbledore got up, before leaving outside the house and apparating. That small, courteous gesture of not apparating in the house, was completely incongruous with his sudden appearance and manipulations. They were all pointless.

Albus Dumbledore was a complex, baffling man, who had years of knowledge and experience on her and Arthur. but he didn't know Ron. He would never know Ron. Molly's maternal instinct knew her son, down to every wicked, rotting fiber of his being.

Harry must stay safe and pure: the complete opposite of her own child.

* * *

Molly had at least partly done Albus' wishes. She had waited for Harry to arrive, making sure he knew how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

But Ron was absent from her family. She had sent the boy ahead while the rest waited for Harry. They didn't miss having Ron around.

She had been jovial, beaming even to see Harry. He was everything she wished Ron had been. Humble, innocent, and ever thankful. He didn't demean her. Harry was a lost puppy, eagerly waiting for food and care. She sent him off with Fred and George, knowing that her way was right.

Ron wouldn't meet Harry. The monster would forge his own dark, twisted path in life. That path would hopefully never cross with Harry's.

Death and despair would be the only results if that happened.

* * *

Ron found his own compartment on the train, but no one came to sit by him throughout the trip. Without his parents, his brothers were finally not forced to be around him.

His contact with people outside his family had been minimal. The only children he knew were friends of his siblings. The purebloods hated his family of blood-traitors and he wasn't about to waste time looking entire ride for Muggleborns. It would have been too rude of a question to ask.

Like always, he was alone. Ron merely...existed. Scabbers didn't really count. He was a hand-me-down pet just like everything he owned.

"It's just you and me, Scabbers." Ron looked down to the mangy rat on his lap. "We're finally free of my brothers."

The rat lightly scratched his leg, making a comforting gesture. Scabbers had given him more kindness and understanding than his brothers and Ginny ever would.

Ron stared at the window, petting Scabbers as his mind wandered. Silence clung to him, but the boy would soon invite a storm within Hogwarts.

* * *

AN: I'm not sure how important the slash will be to this fic. The slash could either be a small subplot that relates to Ron's overall issues in this fic, or could be greater. Thoughts?


	3. Dead River

Chapter 3: Dead River

* * *

The Sorting Hat rested silently on Ron's head, pouring into the abyss of the young wizard's mind.

Ron wasn't like the average student; his memories were more fractured. His thoughts were more guarded. If the Sorting Hat had chosen to speak, he doubted Ron would even respond. The boy kept silent, not even thinking about which house he could end up in.

The sorting seemed to matter as much to the boy as what the weather was like. Usually the students were anxious, almost fear-struck, like the decision was truly life-or-death. That allowed for easier access to their thoughts. Ron looked blankly forward, not even eyeing curious expressions from the other students. Even Harry Potter's sorting had been quick compared to Ron's.

The hat could barely make out memories of Ron's family, flickering in and out of focus.

Of loyalty, Ron held none to his family. He merely lived with them because it was required. The hat could sense a distaste for all of them: a taste of emotion in the boy's cold, dry mind.

It poured further into Ron's mind, looking for a sign that he should be in Gryffindor. Like before, there was nothing to justify that choice. He didn't stand up to his brothers who bullied him. He merely let it happen. The boy could have been threatened with the killing curse and probably wouldn't have even blinked in response.

He was above responding.

If anything, Ron had all the makings of a Slytherin, but the hat would not just quickly place the boy there despite its gut feeling. The Weasleys were blood-traitors; teasing by Ron's brothers would never compare to the entire snake house turned against him. The students would only prove their likening to the snake and attack the boy, venom and all.

Surely, no life with the Weasleys could prepare a child for that.

The hat searched through memories of the boy studying. Perhaps he was like Percy, who could have gone into either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Only when the boy had asked to be with his family had the hat finally chosen.

Of wit, the boy had plenty to spare, but his intellectual pursuits always served an ulterior motive. The hat wanted to press further and wonder what the boy could possibly study for, but the he lost the memories in the blackness of the boy's mind.

It probably didn't want to know.

"We both know what house you'll put me in. Hurry up. I'm tired of all these eyes on me." Ron said a little bit condescendingly.

The hat almost didn't know how to respond. "You will not be accepted there, no matter how well you will do."

Ron sat silent, almost infuriating the hat, before gifting it with a response. "That doesn't mean it isn't the right choice."

"No Weasley has even been in Slytherin."

"I don't belong with them and never will. If I'm forced into seven years of mangy lions, Dumbledore will just have to find another dusty hat from his closet for the sorting."

No child had ever threatened him. Not even the purebloods. They were too paranoid and anxious about what would happen if they didn't make Slytherin. If the hat had been a demon, the majority of the snake house would have easily sold their souls to him.

But not Ron. The child demanded a decision.

Instead of getting angrier, the hat calmed itself thinking back to the sortings of Ron's family. All of his immediate family were lions, but...perhaps some power had reached though the generations to claim this child. He was nothing like the Weasleys despite being a carbon-copy of that brood in appearance.

They were all simple red-heads, but Ron offered the taste of something different.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black..." the hat whispered to itself, pausing in awe. Peeling back the generations on the Weasley family tree made Ron look ever less out of place.

He was a true pure-blood born into the wrong generation; born into the wrong off-branch of a blood-traitor family.

Even the hat could sense Ron's curiosity at its slipped whisper. The boy would find out soon enough.

"SLYTHERIN! The hat exclaimed, feeling a little victorious over finally deciding.

McGonagall just gasped, eyeing the boy. She quickly collected herself, reaching to take the Sorting Hat from Ron's head. The boy didn't even acknowledge her, looking around the rest of the Great Hall.

No one had clapped.

No one had even coughed in the awkward silence.

They simply stared at him like he was a wild, new breed of magical animal on a preserve. Their very eyes hunted him.

Ron walked over to the Slytherin table, smiling at the looks they gave him. The Slytherins were just as pretentious as he had been raised to believe. In that, his dear mother was right.

They didn't have masks like they claimed. One look at their faces told their emotions: bewilderment, disgust, and suspicion. Every face in the Slytherin House had suddenly matched his mother's.

And he loved it.

* * *

"Who is he?" Harry beckoned to Fred, not liking the silence that had descended the Hall.

"Our brother." Fred and George whispered together, still eyeing Ron as he sat with the Slytherins. Ron sat alone, for no one made an effort to sit next to him. The few who were close inched away.

He had a Dementor-like affect on them.

"I feel sorry for him." Harry didn't know what to say. He wasn't raised in this world and barely knew anything beyond that he was now in Hogwarts.

"Don't feel sorry, Harry. He's an evil git who deserves what they'll do to him."

"Why?" Hermione, the girl from the train, interrupted to ask.

"He's selfish, spoiled, and..." George stopped, not quite knowing what words could even describe his brother.

"He's just bad, Granger. Leave it at that." Fred cut the conversation off, soon to be drowned by the applause for Blaise Zabini making it into Slytherin.

The other houses at least clapped for that sorting.

* * *

Ron's thoughts for the rest of the feast turned not to his House, but to Harry Potter. He had seen the boy with his brothers, who took to more to Harry in mere seconds more than they ever did with Ron.

Harry was the brother he should have been. He knew he was better then them, but the feelings still persisted. Harry still took something a younger Ron was desperate for.

Love was a powerful emotion, perhaps stronger than magic, but its twin jealously grew within Ron. He could not find power in love; there existed no friends or family to inspire it. Not even the Slytherins would tolerate him. Begrudging acceptance was the most he could hope for...or fear.

Jealously would fuel his magic and give him determination. He would rise from the lowest of the low and dominate the school. Hogwarts would be but child's play for when he became an adult.

* * *

"A Weasley in Slytherin?" Dumbledore sat in his office, chuckling to himself. The Sorting Hat sat on his desk.

"No one other House would fit him."

"Oh well...Harry at least made friends with his fellow Gryffindors." The elder wizard seemed pleased with himself. Ron was no longer useful; Molly had been right to urge Harry to make friends with the twins.

"I would be more concerned with Ron than that Potter boy." The Hat huffed.

Albus ignored the hat. "Harry will go great things."

"I've seen that boy's mind, Albus. He can barely hold a wand let alone have the mindset to care about school."

Dumbledore knew where this was headed. "He needed a normal life."

"He isn't abused, but Albus...Harry has neither been encouraged nor has he ever struggled in life. He won't meet the expectations the wizarding world has of him. He will disappoint."

The hat's comment surprised him. He expected claims of abuse and manipulation. Neither were quite true but were easily assumed.

"He will do his parents proud."

"Albus, I would spend more time watching the latest Weasley son."

"I almost thought you placed him in that House as a joke. Years of predicability with that family makes for a great punch-line."

"I would never do that. Ron demanded his placement."

Albus stopped, confused at why the hat persistently brought up Ron.

"Ron is but a child. And a Weasley. You can't be scared."

"Ron isn't a child. That...being threatened me."

"I never thought you were one for dramatics." Dumbledore sighed, his mood slightly killed by the Hat. He just wanted to enjoy the happiness of Harry being sorted into the right crowd. Harry could be nurtured into greatness there.

"I'm not. Ron will do more at Hogwarts in his first year than Harry in seven. No one expects greatness of him. They hate him, Albus. Need I remind you how another despised child in Slytherin turned out..."

Tom Riddle was a low blow even fifty years later. That name clung like a curse to the school, haunting every decision Albus made with the children.

"Ron wasn't bullied in an orphanage."

"He might as well be an orphan. There is no love lost between him and his parents, Albus. That child is bitter and will know a power that Harry can never have. He will be a true Slytherin."

"There is no need for hysterics. Ron is a child and not the second-coming of the Dark Lord."

"Harry is also a child...and you expect him to be a savior of the Light."

Albus bit hit tongue, his breath slowing as he tried to calm himself.

"Then we shall see." Albus simply left it at that.

They ignored each other for the rest of the night; their minds obsessed with their chosen predictions. Ron and Harry were children who could never treated as such.

A savior and a Dark Lord; they were just repeating variables in the history of the wizarding world. The Sorting Hat almost pitied Ron, hoping that he could have been wrong in his musings.

Like Tom, both had been born with unassuming names, but exuded such terrifying greatness.

* * *

Even in the Slytherin common room, the other first years made an effort to step away from Ron.

"Welcome to Slytherin." Snape began, trying not to focus on the surprise addition to the House. He paused and studied the boy each time his eyes searched the first years. He just couldn't help himself. Severus didn't hate the boy, which most of the Slytherins did, but he was just as confused.

There had never been a Slytherin in Weasley. Even the children of Slytherin blood-traitors didn't make the house.

Perhaps Weasley could succeed in his House. If he studied and proved himself, he could redeem his blemished last name. Severus pitied the boy, for even though he himself was a half-blood, Ron was likely to be treated worse than he had been. The Weasleys were staunch light-oriented Dumbledore supporters; even a half-blood could have value in among the dark.

"I will leave the prefects to escort you to your rooms. Above all, do not disappoint the values of our House." Severus left, his robes billowing as he made his way out of the common room.

Already, most of the Slytherins were ill-fitted to the values of ambition and cunning. Crabbe and Goyle were brutes: monsters that resulted from decades of inbreeding. Draco was a brat, but the same could be said for his female counterpart, the shrill Pansy Parkinson. The rest were non-entities, more akin to Hufflepuff blandness than ambition.

Only Ron had the glint of cunning in his eyes. Snape couldn't guess the child's emotions, not even after the silence in the Great Hall. Normal children would have cried.

Instead, Ron Weasley had cracked a rare smile.

* * *

AN: Eventually, I might speed though certain years until I focus on third/fourth. Does anyone want me to spend more time on those years?


	4. Three Kings

Chapter 4: Three Kings

* * *

Draco had already unpacked his things, as had the rest of the first-year boys.

They anxiously looked over at Ron, stealing fleeting glances at the redhead. It was one thing to make fun of his family status as a blood-traitor when he was a distant threat...but Ron was here and he was a Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat had to have made that decision for a reason.

Draco wasn't fearful; if anything, having such a lowly, poor reject of a wizard amongst the otherwise pristine Syltherins was an ego-booster. All and all, he was curious. He would root out the reason for Ron's presence. Despite that, Draco slightly shook when Ron would catch him staring, as if the Weasley spawn could sense eyes upon him.

Draco's initial anger had dissolved into an all-consuming curiosity. If he was going to make fun of this Weasley, he must know him first.

"Weasel..." Draco choked out, all poise lost in the awkwardness of the situation. "How...how..."

Draco didn't need to finish. By breaking the silence in their room, all of the boys immediately looked over to them. Nott and Zabini practically gawked, just as curious as he was. Even Crabbe and Goyle looked over, seeming to have gained some fleeting moment of an attention span.

"What, Malfoy? How did I became a Slytherin?"

Ron didn't yell, but spoke a little too confidently for Draco's liking.

"Yes." Draco bit out, slightly annoyed at Ron's tone.

"Because the hat sorted me." Ron's eyes gleamed, teasing Draco into fighting him. It was just too smug to handle.

Despite that, Draco forced himself to not yell. He clenched his fists, speaking to Ron. "It must have been some mistake."

"Yeah...a thousand year old hat made by one of the greatest wizards in history made a mistake. I'm glad a first year like you figured things out."

Nott snickered, several beds away, but Draco silenced him with a glare.

"You know what I mean, Weasel...Weasley."

"I don't know, Malfoy."

Draco was tempted to go feral and claw the redhead's face off with his bare hands.

"Fine. No Weasley has ever been in Slytherin. They're the lowest of the low."

Before he could continue, Weasley once again cut him off. "If this House really had any standards, your goons Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be here."

"They're not blood-traitors." He quickly snapped back.

Ron walked from his bed to Malfoy's, continuing to stare at the blond. "Stop where you're going or I'll show you just what a traitor can do."

Ron grasped his wand, preparing to blast the blond's head off. "I can make the room rain red with you, Malfoy. Like you said, I'm the lowest of the low. Nothing worse can happen to me, but you..." He trailed off, watching Draco flinch at the mention of blood.

"My father..."

"Your father doesn't have power over me. He can't wave galleons over my head and tell me to play nice."

"He can hurt you!" Despite Draco's yell, the other boys in the room didn't come beside them. Nott was pretending to fall asleep. Crabbe and Goyle only sat idly by on their corner of the room. Blaise was probably relishing Weasley taunting him.

"I don't see him around here, Malfoy. And a curse or poison sent by owl to me sounds a little too low-class for your father. Seems like a thing someone like me would do..."

"I was trying to be nice!"

"Just listen to yourself. Not even my sister can have a tantrum like you. I'll definitely have to be owling your father..." Ron merely winked.

"You wouldn't dare, Weasel. Tell me how you got in this House." Malfoy kept on raising his voice, easily baited.

"I already told you."

"Tell me! You aren't a true Slytherin. You're not even fit to be sorted with the rest of those mangy lions!"

His voice rose once again, but Ron still stood calmly in front of him. Nothing phased the redhead. Weasley even seemed to find this funny.

"You're just showing every reason why you don't belong in Slytherin."

With that, greater rage surged through Draco. He just couldn't handle more. Instead of casting even a simple jinx, anger possessed him into lunging forward and pushing the redhead onto the ground.

Ron didn't fight back; he merely looked into the blond's eyes and laughed. "Just what a filthy Mudblood would do."

Finally, Crabbe and Goyle came over, pulling Draco off of the blood-traitor and back to their side of the room. Malfoy would have been too weak to start a real fight; melodrama was his arena of expertise.

Ron still lay down, smirking at the scene. "It's sad when your lackeys are making the smart decisions here."

Before Draco could do anything, Goyle pulled him over by his bed with Crabbe in tow. Ron started laughing again, much to the beguilement of the room. Nott undid the curtains of his bed and sneaked a look at Ron, contemplating the redhead.

Ron Weasley shouldn't have been an interesting person. This was the year Harry Potter had finally returned to the Wizarding World, but in one sorting, Ron had quickly become the focus of the school's gossip.

They would all be watching him in the days to come.

* * *

Breakfast the next day passed somewhat blandly. Draco hadn't fought Ron since last night, but all of Slytherin had quickly found out about their quarrel.

It wasn't even Crabbe, Goyle, Nott or Zabini who had told the others. Malfoy had whined to the other years about the blood-traitor's threats, desperately seeking sympathy and attention. Only Pansy seemed to care, but the rest merely remained silent.

Slytherin was defined by a clear hierarchy of blood and wealth. Unknown variables like Ron never happened. Despite their age, the first years' lives, like any Slytherins', could be predicted from who they would marry to what career they would hold. Everything was fixed for them, except for Ron.

Ron came from nothing, but was capable of everything.

The other Slytherin's weren't interested because of his magical power; of that, the Weasley was just a first year. Instead, Ron's nonexistent status was compelling. What would he do to achieve power?

Just as Draco had hinted in his questions, there had to be a reason for the sorting. How could someone from a family so wrong be right for this house?

Nott came late to breakfast, noticing that still no one sat by Ron. Despite his better judgment and the social suicide that could follow, he sat next to the boy.

"I'm Theodore Nott."

Ron didn't respond, but just stared.

Nott continued. "We're dormmates."

"I know." Ron's expression was blank and unreadable.

"I was there when...Draco and you..." Nott brushed his hand through his hair.

"So, what did you think?"

"I...I thought it was funny." Nott offered a small smile, but Ron detected it nonetheless.

"Do you think I don't belong in Slytherin?"

"Yes, but..." He paused, trying to sound nice. "Not for the reasons Draco and the others think. They'll either hate or mistrust you here. You'd be accepted in any other House."

"The hat chose for a reason." Ron had seemed tense, but calmed down upon hearing the rest of what Nott had to say.

"Did it say anything? Mine babbled about my father and mother."

Ron smiled, surprising Theodore. "My family is too simple for the hat to say anything about."

For some odd reason, Nott just laughed. Ron's comment should have been sad with its hints of angst and neglect.

"What's your family like? Weasley...I mean, Ron? Surely they aren't just simple."

"I don't get along with them."

"So how do you think they'll take you in Slytherin? Can I expect any Howlers this week?"

"My mom would come in person to gift me with...the killing curse. A mother's love." Ron's eyes glinted, wackily happy.

"So who hates you more, the Slytherins or your family?"

"Tough decision. But it might be my family. They're somehow smarter and more underhanded than what passes to get into this House."

"Crabbe and Goyle are...nice? I guess? Smarts...thats what they have." Theodore smirked, unable to think of redeeming qualities for his inbreed yearmates.

"Malfoy seemed to have a whole lot of smarts last night."

Their conversation was still a little awkward, but they were beginning to get used to each other. Nott was surprised to find good conversation in a Weasley of all people.

"Why did you threaten him? He's told the rest of the Slytherins."

"Only a Malfoy could turn being humiliated into something to brag about."

"You should be worried about his father. Malfoys are one of the richest pureblood families, because unlike my dad and the rest, he wasn't convicted of being a Death Eater _willingly__."_

"It's not like he can kill me. That's too uncreative even for a Malfoy."

"Uncreative?" Nott gasped, before laughing. "What would be a satisfying threat?"

"You bluntly implied Malfoy Sr. was a Death Eater. He could at least tickle me with the Cruciatus."

"Yeah," Theodore rolled his eyes. "You'll just have a slumber party at the Malfoys."

"The real horror would be how long it took for Draco to decide what to wear."

Although Theodore laughed, he pressed. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"I'm not going to take the threats of a first-year seriously."

"Even a first-year can come from a powerful family." Nott's voice rose.

Theodore tried forcing himself not to laugh and reinforce the seriousness of the situation. He looked around, watching the other members of Slytherin. Some blatantly stared over at him and Ron, but he doubt they heard.

"Like I said, the worst he can do is tickle me."

"Or let me guess, shock you with the Killing Curse? That darn static..."

"I'm glad you understand..." Ron paused, smiling again at the other boy. "Hmm...what do you know about the Black family?"

"Now, that's a family that would throw a good...slumber party. Crazy, the lot of them, from what my dad says."

"Could you get a family tree of the Blacks?"

Ron didn't even try to hide and subtly suggest an interest in the Black family. Perhaps Nott's mix of fear for Ron and their banter confused him from questioning how off-topic that was.

"Ask your friend Draco. He's the closest Black relative here."

"It just had to be him, didn't it?"

"He likes you...in a 'I'm going to bludgeon you to death and laugh maniacally' kind of way."

"I don't even want to know what he would do to someone he loves then."

"Like you said before, he'd tickle them. His aunt Bellatrix just loved tickling the Longbottoms too much..."

Theodore Nott felt generally giddy around Ron. The boy was funny and fresh, nothing like the stuffy traditions and affected superiority of the purebloods.

"No wonder the Death Eaters joined You-Know-Who. It was for the slumber parties. Holding hands and flesh-eating curses. Maybe even sit around and roast marshmallows and Mudbloods with Fiendfyre."

Nott laughed even louder, breaking his otherwise calm demeanor. Draco gave him a death glare from afar, much to the boy's amusement.

* * *

"Look's like Ronniekins made a friend..." George nudged his twin, their eyes darting to the Slytherin table.

"Consorting with Death Eaters and the first week of school isn't even done..." Fred snarled.

Their otherwise joking personalities had melted; their hatred for their brother was their most serious emotion. Ron would be found and cast out of their family for what he was.

Even in hatred, Ron was always the center of attention.

* * *

AN: Thank you for the lovely reviews. I think I might write one more chapter that takes place during first year than time-jump. Ron has no real power now.


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